


Coffee After Midnight

by Miko



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hand Jobs, Loss of Limbs, Oral Sex, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: The seed of a relationship can be planted with nothing more than a mutual love of coffee late at night. But to make it bloom, far more tending is required.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 28
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

Angela had always done her best work late at night. From studying as a student, to working on her thesis, to developing her nanobiotic tech, almost all of it had been accomplished long after the sun set.

In Overwatch, with a gaggle of post-docs to do the boring, nitty-gritty parts of the experiments, Angela was free to focus on the more delicate parts of her research, the things that required her undivided attention. Unfortunately, she quickly discovered that having assistants meant ‘undivided’ was nothing more than a distant dream during the day. Someone always required her input or instruction for this or that, or there was mission briefing info she needed to review, or any number of other such tasks.

As head of the research division, she was free to set her own hours. She had to put _some_ time in during normal hours to oversee the post-docs, but nobody remarked on it when she stayed up until what Morrison called ‘oh dark hundred’. She got blissful peace and quiet for hours at a time, and she loved it.

Even she had to take breaks sometimes, though. Frustrating as it could be when she was on the edge of a new idea or breakthrough, her body needed her to get up and move around every so often. She set an alarm for every hour, or she’d get lost in her work and forget entirely.

This time when the alarm went off, Angela reluctantly pulled her attention away from the nanoscope, locked her hands together, and stretched them above her head. Her spine crackled audibly as it snapped back into place, and she winced.

“That sounds painful.”

The words were quiet, hardly more than a murmur, but Angela jumped in shock anyway. She spun on the lab stool, hand pressed to her racing heart, and stared at the doorway. The man standing there was perhaps the last person she’d have expected to see. “Genji! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” He inclined his head in a sort of abbreviated nod, tipping it slightly to the side as well in a way that conveyed an apology. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Angela flushed, embarrassed that she’d been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t heard him enter. Then again, this was Genji, who moved quiet as a cat even when he wasn’t making an effort to be stealthy. “For that matter, how did you get in here at all? This area is restricted.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and she knew he was smiling. It was a very rare expression, and perhaps nobody else would be able to spot it, but she’d learned to read his facial expression through only his eyes long ago. “You gave me access to this level back when I had to be in here multiple times a day for fittings and calibration, and you got tired of having to come down and walk me up. Apparently, you never revoked it.” His voice held the same hint of a smile as his eyes, though there was a darkness to the amusement. Any mention of that dreadful period of adjustment, when he’d feared he would never walk again, inevitably turned his mood sour.

“Drat it,” she muttered. “You’re right, I never did. That still doesn’t mean you should be wandering around up here.”

“I saw the light on, and wondered who else was up so late.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “At the Blackwatch base, it was only ever me and the night security patrols.”

"That sounds like it's a regular occurrence for you to be up all hours," Angela noted. "Trouble sleeping?" 

"I've always been a night owl. Considering how often Blackwatch operations happen in the middle of the night, I never saw a reason to change my sleep schedule." He cocked his head. "What about you, why are you up so late? Rushed deadline?"

"I prefer working in the quiet hours of the night," Angela admitted. "No paperwork to do, no subordinates to oversee, no interruptions to my thought process."

"Ah." Was that a flash of disappointment in his eyes? "I should leave you to your solitude, then." He gave another little bow, and turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Angela was on her feet before she realized she was moving, one hand outstretched as if she could stop him from across the room. Feeling foolish, she dropped her hand as he turned back to face her. But this was more conversation than she usually got from Genji in an entire day; he'd even initiated the social contact. Making him feel unwelcome was the last thing she wanted to do. Also, sending him off to brood alone as he wandered the base seemed unhealthy.

"You don't have to go yet. I need to take a break anyway, if I want my spine to still be straight come morning." Angela gave him a sheepish smile, inviting him to share the joke at her own expense. He didn't laugh - he never did - but he did come further into the room. She gestured at a stool across the lab table, at the opposite end from where she'd been running tests, and was heartened when he sat down.

"Coffee?" She turned to the dispenser in the corner. It was her personal unit, outdated and rather battered, but it had been with her through thick and thin. That machine had gotten her through medical school, her residency, and every stressful night since. She felt like she owed it her loyalty in return, and refused to get rid of it.

"Hmm, I don't know. I've heard horror stories about your coffee." There was a teasing note in his voice, faint but definitely present. Many people thought Genji had no sense of humour, though those closest to him knew better. However, it was rare to hear anything but grim gallows humour or biting sarcasm from him.

Thrilled again at this sign of an unusually good mood, Angela exaggerated her exasperated reaction. "Oh, honestly. It's not like I've ever poisoned anyone. That time Ana threw up, it turned out she had a stomach flu."

"All the same, I think I'll pass. But thank you."

"Your loss." She turned, steaming mug in hand, to find that he'd propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. His shoulders were slumped, and there was a weariness in his eyes that put the lie to his claim of simply being a night owl. He was also eyeing the coffee like a child might yearn after a forbidden treat, so he wasn't turning it down because he didn't want it.

Settling in across from him, Angela toyed with the mug, debating whether to say anything. She knew why he was really refusing - he hated removing his mask, having anyone see the horrible scarring on his face. Even her. He said it was because he refused to deal with reactions of fear or pity from other people, but Angela suspected it was more to do with his own hatred of his damaged body.

"Genji, you know it doesn't bother me," she said, as gently as she could. "It's not as if I haven't seen it before."

There was a pause, the eerie red glow of his eyes intensifying as his pupils expanded. For a moment Angela thought he might actually answer her. If he answered, they could _talk_ about it, and maybe she could finally get him past some of the hang-up. He'd flatly stonewalled every Overwatch psychiatrist and counselor he'd been ordered to attend with, to the point that the last one had told Angela they might be doing more harm than good, trying to force him to deal with it.

She was dismayed, but not at all surprised, when he shook his head and redirected the conversation instead. "Tell me about what you're doing?"

"Without any intention of offending your intelligence, I doubt you'd understand one word in ten," Angela laughed. "Even my post-docs sometimes can't follow my thought process, and they're supposed to be experts as well."

"Try me," he invited, a surprising hint of warmth in his tone. "Even if I don't understand all of it, I'm curious. Unless it's classified?"

"Not this." The words came out unintentionally fierce. "Never any of my research about medicine that could help people, improve humanity. That's the deal I made with Commander Morrison when I signed on. What good is having unlimited resources to play with if none of my research is ever released?"

"Why aren't more people using your nanobiotic tech, then?" Genji gazed at his right hand, flexing the fingers. "Not to mention all your advances in cybernetics."

"Some of the cybernetics research has made it to the public," she admitted. "Things that were extensions or improvements of previously approved techniques and modifications. But it takes years, _decades_ , for something as revolutionary as my biotic tech to be approved for general use on humans. The fact that I've been allowed to use it within Overwatch is only because you field agents need the healing so very badly, and Morrison fought hard for even that much. That's why no one is permitted to use it but me. If there _is_ an adverse reaction of some kind, I'm the only one with a hope of diagnosing and treating it."

He blinked. "I didn't realize. So I'm your experimental lab rat, am I?" There was no bite in his tone, no hint of bitterness. He was truly only teasing her, and Angela was thrilled by it.

"I thought you knew that already," she teased back. 

"All the more reason for me to be curious, then. Tell me?"

Feeling embarrassed, Angela rubbed the bridge of her nose. She'd written several scientific papers and given many lectures, but usually when she tried to explain her work to laypeople, their eyes glazed over and they tuned her out quickly. She didn't want Genji to be _bored_ by her company. Then he might not come back.

And she very much wanted him to. For all her love of working in peace and solitude, this brief interlude had done her a great deal of good. She was relaxed and happy - and it seemed to be helping him, as well. "All right, if you insist. Don't say I didn't warn you."

She started explaining her current experiment, keeping it as simple as she could. It felt as if she was simultaneously being far too technical and also insulting his intelligence by dumbing it down to a painful degree. He nodded every so often, made encouraging sounds meant to prod her into continuing, though he asked no questions. Whether because he didn't understand enough to have any, or because he didn't want to interrupt, she wasn't sure.

She was in the middle of explaining blastema and its importance in the field of regeneration when something she'd said tripped a trigger in her brain, derailing her onto an entirely new train of thought. "Oh!" Jumping to her feet, she hurried over to the nanoscope, grabbing a fresh sample plate from cryo storage. "Why didn't I ever think of that before? Sorry, just... give me a moment or... I'll lose this thought..."

Scribbling hasty notes on her datapad, she examined the image in the 'scope with new eyes. Truly, she'd only meant to take a minute to jot the new thought down, but one thought led to another, then to another, and the next thing she knew, her alarm was going off again. Startled, she pulled back from the 'scope and looked around, to discover that the room was empty of anyone but her.

"Oh, damn," she muttered in German, annoyed with herself for losing track of time. Not only had she been incredibly rude, but it was now highly unlikely he'd be back again.

Except when she turned back to the table she found _two_ empty coffee cups, the second holding the dregs of coffee too dark to have been touched by cream, unlike her own half-finished pale brown drink. Scrawled on a napkin was a note in messy handwriting that she recognized as Genji's. So messy, she couldn't read it upside down, but had to come around to his side of the table before she could make out the words. When she did, a delighted laugh escaped her. Perhaps she hadn't blown things entirely.

 _The coffee's not so bad_.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few days after her late-night encounter with Genji, Angela continued to nurse hope that he'd turn up again. Since she didn't want to jump like a startled rabbit every time, she began looking around carefully when her alarm went off, checking for company before she stretched again. Unfortunately, she always found herself alone. He hadn't returned.

Unless he was sneaking in and out again _between_ her breaks. Which, Genji being who he was, she actually wouldn't put past him. But she liked to think he'd enjoyed their talk enough to want to stay, if he'd bothered to come by at all.

During the day he was as aloof as ever, speaking rarely and usually only to make barbed remarks to someone, or give monosyllabic answers when asked a direct question. Only Angela was exempt from the caustic comments, accorded a quiet deference that he gave nobody else. But that had always been the case, his way of honouring the grueling hours of work she'd put into first saving his life, and then building his body.

Of course, as soon as she let her guard down, that was when he turned up again. She'd just shut off her reminder alarm and started rubbing at a knot in her shoulder when his low voice came from behind her. "Let me help with that."

A very undignified noise escaped her as she jumped. Angela told herself it had _not_ been a yelp, only a gasp... but the hot blush in her cheeks knew otherwise. "Genji! I swear, one of these days I'm going to bell you like a cat. You sneak up on me on purpose!"

His eyes were crinkled in amusement, smiling at her behind the mask. He held up his hands as if in a gesture of surrender. "What makes you think a bell would help?" She noted he skirted the question of whether he'd startled her intentionally.

Sighing, Angela brushed her hair back behind her ear. "If I put a bell collar on you, then I'd have some warning when you're getting close."

To her astonishment he chuckled, the first sound of genuine, untainted amusement she'd ever heard from him. "Part of my training in stealth was to work in clothes with an increasing number of bells sewn on. If any rang, I got punishment exercises."

Her eyes went wide, and she hoped he'd attribute it to disbelief in the story rather than shock at his reaction. She didn't want to draw his attention to it, lest he grow self-conscious and stop himself from laughing the next time. "Truly? You're putting me on. Nobody could do that."

Genji spread his arms, as if in silent invitation for her to try attaching bells to his non-existent clothes. "I did a lot of pushups at first," he admitted, eyes still showing mirth. "But I got the hang of it eventually. So it wouldn't do you any good, sorry." He gestured at her neck, and repeated his first question. "May I help? You look sore."

Angela hesitated for a long moment, unsure if she'd be crossing a line between doctor and patient. Then again, Genji was far more to her than just a patient - he was a teammate and, she hoped, a genuine friend. She wouldn't have hesitated to let Torbjorn or Reinhardt help...

Well, no. Reinhardt would pound the knots far too hard no matter how he tried to be gentle, and Torbjorn would get distracted thinking about his latest project and end up hurting her without meaning to. But her reasons for not letting them rub her shoulders had nothing to do with propriety and ethics.

Plus her neck and shoulder were _really_ locked up, and she couldn't reach the worst spot beneath her shoulder blade. Giving in with a grateful sigh, she turned her back to him, shrugging off her lab coat to let him work through the thin blouse beneath. "Yes, please. Gently."

"Of course." He swept her hair off the nape of her neck, draping it over her other shoulder to be out of the way. It was getting long enough that she needed to start pulling it up away from her face, when she was working or on missions. His touch was surprisingly tender, a word she'd never thought would apply to Genji in any sense. 

Then his fingers dug into _exactly_ the right place on her shoulder, and Angela lost any train of thought she might have been on. Groaning when the knot released, she slumped forward as he continued to stroke and soothe the throbbing muscle. His hand was warm, the contact firm even though he was being careful, and even through the silk his fingers were rough with callus. The way that callus dragged over her softer skin should have felt harsh, but instead it tingled pleasantly, making her all the more aware of every touch. 

Heat trickled through her and she caught herself wondering what that touch would feel like on other, even softer parts of her. Stifling a gasp, Angela fought the image, even as her thighs clenched together against the unexpected rush of desire. Her nipples peaked, tight and aching, her breasts heavy with the sudden need to feel his hand on her, and her lace bra felt painfully rough on the suddenly oversensitive skin. It was far from the first stray thought about Genji that had ever crossed her mind, but never with him standing _right there_.

In the darkness of her room, alone in the depths of the night, it had seemed permissible to allow her mind to indulge in fantasy. His lithe grace of body, his indomitable strength of will, his cunning flexibility of mind... all of them drew her in a way nobody else ever had. In her line of work she'd seen more than enough scars to become oblivious to them as a factor in attraction, and her body's response to Genji was undeniably explosive. 

But even if there hadn't been other barriers between them, she knew that any hint of interest would surely send him bolting, never to return. Genji was so convinced of his disfigurement, so repulsed by his own body, that he couldn't seem to comprehend how anyone else might feel differently. His small but dedicated group of fangirls - and a few fanboys - was growing rapidly now that he'd been permanently assigned to this base. Angela knew for a fact there was at least one bootleg poster of him hanging in the barracks, but when Tracer told him as much the other day, he'd refused to believe her. Even if they dragged him down there to prove it, Angela was certain he would write it off as inexplicable insanity, or the allure of the forbidden.

"You're very good at that," she said, trying to distract herself. The reality of having his hands on her, especially in such a sensitive area, was far more intimate and erotic than she'd ever have imagined. This massage was going to fuel heated fantasies for weeks to come, but she mustn't let him suspect the direction of her thoughts. Maybe someday, when he'd allowed his soul to begin the process of healing, he'd be ready to accept more than friendship from her. As it was, getting him to accept even the friendship was still an ongoing battle.

"Basic anatomy was part of my lessons," was his surprising answer. Then his tone turned dark. "When your primary weapon is a blade, it's important that you understand exactly where to strike for the most impact. All the more so with shuriken, where they must be placed precisely in order to do any significant damage. A gunman has far more room for error."

Ardor cooling at the violent explanation of his knowledge, Angela searched for a way to bring the conversation back onto safe ground. "There are two sides to every coin, I suppose. My knowledge could be used to harm as easily as heal. It's my choice what I do with it. And at the moment, you're choosing to help me, so regardless of why you learned it, I'm grateful."

He made a soft noise, perhaps thoughtful. Angela decided to take that as a win. She also knew she couldn't justify allowing him to continue the massage; she was all but putty under his strong fingers, and at this point was only indulging herself. Pushing herself upright - when had she slumped over to rest her head on her arms on the desk? - she turned and smiled at him. "Thank you. That's much better."

With a small bow, he backed off. She squelched the disappointment that tried to emerge on a sigh. This time he took a seat across the lab table without her having to invite him first. "I'm glad I could help. You've certainly done enough for me over the years."

"And I was happy to do so," she assured him, rising and heading for the dispenser in the corner. "Coffee? You drank it in the end last time, you might as well start with it this time."

"No, thank you."

Sighing, she made her own and carried it back to the table. As she sat, she looked him over carefully. He didn't seem as exhausted as last time, but still tired enough that he should have been sleeping. His hair stuck up a bit more on one side than the other, suggesting he'd been lying down at some point recently, as if he'd tried to sleep and given up. He'd had a long, hard solo mission today, and anyone else would have been out like a light the moment their head touched the pillow. 

"How are your pain levels? I could return the favour." Maybe if she couched it in terms of what he'd just done for her, he'd be honest in his answer.

No such luck. He shook his head, expression turning stubborn. "I'm fine. Don't concern yourself."

"Genji." Though she kept her tone gentle, she also made the words firm, in her best 'don't lie to the doctor' voice. "We've talked about this. You must be truthful with me, if I'm to help you at all."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you asking as my doctor, or my friend? Because I had the impression this was a conversation, not a check up."

The echo of her own thoughts earlier, about what they meant to each other, tugged at something in Angela's heart. Having him regard her as a true friend was a battle she hadn't realized she'd already won, but that didn't mean the hard part was over. She chose her next words carefully, sensing she was teetering on the edge of very dangerous ground. "I'm always your friend, Genji. That never changes. But no, at the moment I'm not being your doctor."

"Then I am fine." There was an emphasis on the last word that made it clear he wouldn't allow any further questions.

Angela considered it, and realized he had a right to his privacy. If she wasn't asking as his physician, then she had no place demanding he share his pain with her. That kind of trust and closeness had to be earned over time. "Fair enough." He looked startled that she hadn't pressed further, and she smiled sadly at him. "Though I hope someday I'll be enough of a friend that you'll answer me truthfully, anyway."

A faint flush darkened the skin just above the mask - was he blushing? "Perhaps," he muttered, looking away. 

'Perhaps' was a much better answer than she'd ever before received when trying to extend the hand of friendship. Angela lifted her mug and took a long sip, using it as a chance to get her expression under control. Too much enthusiasm could still push him away. "Well, you're certainly welcome to come rub my shoulders any time you like, and I'll always be happy to return the favour."

"We shall see." Another of his standard enigmatic answers, but his eyes held the hint of a smile again. 

They chatted for a while longer - mostly Angela did the talking, but he stayed engaged and held up his end of the conversation, barely. This time they ended up discussing his training with Lena Oxton, the young pilot whose life had been so devastated by her chronal disassociation. Part of the reason Genji had been transferred from Blackwatch to Overwatch was because Morrison believed the ninja would be capable of helping Lena get a handle on the chronal oddities that continued to plague her, turning them from glitches into an asset.

Angela observed most of the training sessions, since there was a far higher chance of something going drastically wrong and requiring medical attention, compared to a normal workout. As a teacher Genji was stern, impatient with mistakes, and unforgiving of excuses. He was also fair, pushed Lena to her limits but never past them, and his grudging praise was all the more valuable for being so rare. Lena had blossomed under the attention like a flower under the sun. Angela might be the only person on the base who hadn't been shocked by how well things turned out.

Finally Angela rose to refresh her coffee, and was disappointed when Genji stood as well. "I should go," he murmured. "I've taken up more than enough of your time. I should not impose on you further."

"You're never an imposition," she assured him. "It's probably good for me, too. Plenty of people have told me I get far too wrapped up in my work. Your presence is an excuse to give myself a break."

"You should take better care of yourself," he replied softly. "Where would I... where would any of us be if you break under the strain?"

Pleased that he'd slipped and admitted to personally caring about her welfare, she smiled at him. " _Try_ to get some rest," she urged in return. "Even you can't go forever without sleep. Especially since you turned down the coffee."

He bowed. "Sleep well when you do so, Dr. Ziegler. I'll see you at tomorrow's training session." Between one blink and the next he seemed to vanish.

"Show off," Angela murmured, somehow certain he would hear her. She moved to take a sip of her coffee, and only then realized her hands were empty. Blinking, she glanced down at the table in front of her, then at the counters and tables all around. There was no sign of the mug, and she was _certain_ she'd just refilled it.

"Thief," she called out the door, laughing. "You could have just asked, and I'd have given you one to take with you!" She half thought she heard a quiet chuckle in return.


	3. Chapter 3

Every time he left one of his late night encounters with Dr. Ziegler, Genji promised himself that he wouldn't disturb her work again. His demons were his own to fight, and his restless insomnia was no excuse for interrupting her. Moreover, she clearly understood that part of his inability to sleep came from pain, and blamed herself for not being able to alleviate his suffering. 

She was far too good-hearted, too selfless and caring, like the angel she'd been named for. Genji had no right to sully her with his darkness, no matter how much he was drawn to her bright fire.

Every time, he broke his vow within a day or two. The light shining from the window of her lab was like a beacon, and he was drawn as inevitably as the proverbial moth to a flame. For the few brief minutes that he spent with her, chatting in the quiet intimacy found only in the smallest hours, Genji could forget his pain and set aside his rage.

He kept stealing her coffee, both because it was a gift she'd offered him, and because it was so entertaining to find ways of spiriting it out without her noticing, and listen for her reaction when she realized he'd done it again.

It truly was awful coffee, though.

The only other surcease he'd found was in training with the agent known as Tracer. Lena had long since surpassed the status of mere 'student' and become a true sparring partner. Though he'd initially been brought here because he was the only one who could keep up with her, she'd graduated to being the only one who could keep up with _him_. 

Genji needed all of his focus and attention when fighting with her, leaving no room for thoughts of vengeance or brooding over betrayal. The swift sequence of strike-dodge-parry-strike was like a deadly dance, and even with training weapons there was the potential for real injury at the speeds they moved. He had to empty his mind, and in that emptiness he found momentary peace.

Even at the height of his abilities, every so often she was able to get inside his guard, catch him off balance. Usually that resulted in a hail of hard-light pellets meant to imitate the blasts from her real pulse guns, striking his head as often as his body. Once in a while she slipped in a kick or a punch, picking up his moves and turning them against him.

This time he saw the kick coming, dodged - and realized too late that she'd blinked out of existence mid-kick. She reappeared on his left side and finished the kick, momentum intact. It slammed through his hasty attempt at a block, pushing his weaker left arm aside and landing the strike on his jaw neat as you please. Genji tried to move with the momentum of the blow and succeeded in blunting some of it, but it still made his ears ring with the impact. There was a loud crash as his metal back struck the ground, and only then did he realize he'd gone flying.

Anyone else would probably have been out cold. Only the fact that his jaw was metal had kept him from the same fate, and it was a near thing. She'd knocked the air out of him, too. "Very good. Telegraphing an attack to get me to move where you want me is an advanced technique." The words were breathless, but the genuine pride he felt shone through.

"Bloody _hell_." Lena was staring at him, wide-eyed and horrified, one hand creeping up to cover her mouth. "Oh my god, Genji..."

"What? I'm fine. You're not _that_ strong." He shook his head, which proved to be a mistake, as the room spun around him. He felt a trickle of wetness over his upper lip, a nosebleed from the impact. Without thinking he raised a hand to wipe it away, though of course he wouldn't be able to get to it through his mask.

Except his fingers brushed ruined flesh, and came away red.

Heart slamming against his ribs so hard it hurt, Genji realized Lena's shock had nothing to do with the fact that she'd knocked him down. His mask had wrenched free, was lying halfway across the training room, and his face was exposed in public for the first time since the fight with his brother. Swearing, he covered his mouth and nose with his hand, but it was too late. The damage was done.

At least there was no fear or revulsion in Lena's expression, but the dismay and _pity_ weren't much better. In fact, they were worse. Now she would always view him differently, always see the memory of his twisted visage in her mind's eye when she looked at him. Winston was probably up in the observation room, watching the readouts on her chronal accelerator, so he'd have seen too. Along with who knew how many other techs. 

"Genji, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." Lena was all but wringing her hands in distress. He couldn't tell if it was partly a reaction to his appearance, or if she was legitimately that distraught over having literally unmasked him.

He staggered to his feet, unsteady. She'd hit him harder than he'd realized. Well, obviously, if she'd managed to tear off the reinforced mask. He hadn't thought she had that much strength in her tiny body; somehow the blink must have added extra momentum. If she could learn to harness that...

Realizing his thoughts were wandering, Genji cursed again. He likely had a concussion, which meant getting fussed over. While he enjoyed the late night discussions with Angela, he wasn't nearly so fond of being poked at by Dr. Ziegler, and the last thing he wanted right now was more attention. Maybe he could slip away before she heard about it?

No such luck. Her voice came a moment later over the speakers from the observation room. "I think that's enough for one day, you two. Genji, head to the infirmary. Don't argue." There was no point in fighting when she took _that_ tone. 

Lena blinked into existence right in front of him, holding the mask out like an offering of apology. "Really, I didn't mean to," she said, so earnest it hurt. She kept glancing at his face, away again, then hastily back, as if she couldn't decide if it was more rude to stare or to be unable to look.

"I know," he said, harsher than he'd meant to be. When she bit her lower lip, he sighed and added, "It was a good strike."

Her face lit up. Praise from him was rare; to be praised twice for the same thing was unheard of. She'd earned it, though. "Same time tomorrow, then?"

Given a choice, he'd have avoided her for at least a week, long enough for the horrific image of his scars to fade from her memory. But he had a duty, had committed to training her and couldn't slack off just because he felt like it. Besides, it would only make her feel all the more guilty, and make things further awkward between them. "Tomorrow," he agreed, and took the mask.

Unfortunately the anchoring tabs were wrenched out of shape, and he wouldn't be able to slot it back into place. He'd have to travel through half the base like this, with people staring and whispering, like an idiot with his hand clamped over his mouth and nose. At least they wouldn't _see_ , or no more than they ever did. His hand was large enough to hide the worst of it.

Dr. Ziegler appeared in the doorway, datapad held to her chest, a sympathetic smile aimed at him. From her it was _only_ sympathy; she was more than used to his scars, had never shown an ounce of horror or pity. "Need any help getting there?"

"I'm fine." The response was automatic, and about as truthful as the times he claimed pain had nothing to do with his insomnia. He knew it, and she knew it, but he also knew she wouldn't damage his pride by calling him on it in front of others. He'd have to be hurt a lot worse than this before he'd allow people to see him being helped to walk. He'd fought through months of despair and endless agony for the ability to get from one place to another without assistance, and he'd be damned if he'd give that up unless he absolutely had to.

She seemed to understand, because she simply nodded and turned to head down the hallway. "Come along, then." Though she appeared to be paying no attention to him, he knew she was watching closely in case he staggered or fell.

Somehow he made it to the infirmary without losing his balance, though he had to stay at a slow, deliberate pace and focus on putting one foot in front of another. The amount of attention required for such a simple task meant it was easier to ignore the reactions from people around them. As soon as the door to the private examination room closed behind him, he collapsed onto the nearest flat surface.

It happened to be the scanning table, and he waited patiently as she ran a diagnostic scan. She frowned, gestured for him to drop the hand covering his face, then put her slender fingers beneath his chin to tip it up. "Your nose is broken. Anyone else would be complaining about the pain, but I suppose you didn't even notice."

"Not the first time. Probably won't be the last." He braced himself as she wrenched the damaged cartilage back into place, a burst of pain making black stars explode in his vision. When they cleared it was to a gentle golden light, the stream of biotic healing from her staff. Already his aching head felt better, the spears of throbbing agony receding.

"The problem with cybernetic eyes is that I can't tell if your pupils would be blown out or unequal," she said with dry humour. "The scan says you definitely have a concussion, but I don't think it's too bad."

"Again, not the first time." As training injuries went, this wasn't all that serious. Though he wished he'd had the healing of her biotic tech available for all the similar injuries he'd had through the years in the Shimada clan.

She finally released his chin, but her fingers drifted up to brush over his cheek instead. Genji went rigid, holding back a flinch with sheer will. " _Don't_." Damn it, she knew he hated to be touched, hated having anyone pay attention to the horrific damage. Even her. Especially her.

"You know, there's no reason for you to live with such fear of anyone seeing you," she said, her voice too gentle. He didn't like being 'handled' much more than he liked being touched. "I wish you would consider allowing me to do reconstructive surgery."

"Some scars are not meant to be healed." No matter how many scars she fixed, it wouldn't change the need for more than half of his body to be cybernetic. Even if she could make him every bit as handsome as he'd once been, he'd never again be the boy who'd charmed the people of Hanamura into spoiling him rotten.

"Some pain is not meant to be suffered," she countered, stroking his cheek again. Though he still had to fight the flinch, another part of him longed to lean into the touch, to let her soothe him. "By refusing, you're inflicting this on yourself."

"Yes." Until the day he ripped his revenge from Hanzo's body, destroying his brother as Hanzo had destroyed him, Genji had no intention of erasing any of the damage. He wanted the reminder to constantly urge him on, driving him to get stronger, faster, _better_. He wanted Hanzo to see exactly how much he'd made Genji suffer, before Genji made him suffer in turn.

Sighing, she shifted her hand to run her fingers through his hair instead. That was more permissible, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, before she pulled away. Hands on her hips, she looked down at him. "Is there any point in prescribing you pain medication?"

Genji raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to dignify that with an answer.

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she made a sound that was half laugh, half scold. "I don't know why I bother. Go on, then. Torbjorn is in his workshop, it shouldn't take him long to fix the mask. Take it easy for a day or two - though I don't know why I'm bothering to say that, either. Will I see you tonight?"

Surprised, he studied her expression. This was the first time either of them had overtly acknowledged the encounters, the first time she'd issued an invitation instead of him simply drifting in when he could no longer resist the urge to see her. He'd had no intention of coming tonight, not when his wounds were so raw - the emotional ones, if not the physical.

Though her expression was carefully cheerful, he saw the truth in her eyes. She knew he'd planned to avoid her for a while, avoid _anyone_ , and she understood why. The offer was a deliberate counter to that, trying to draw him out of his solitude. Perhaps he should have felt manipulated, but it was because she genuinely cared about him.

"Tonight," he agreed, far less reluctant to accept than he had been when he'd promised Tracer to see her tomorrow. His reward was Angela's most beautiful smile.

"I'll have the coffee ready," she promised. 

Despite everything, his day suddenly didn't seem so awful, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Triage was perhaps Angela's least favourite part of being a medic. When working on her research she didn't have to make calculations about how many resources it would take to heal a wound, or if those resources would be better spent elsewhere. She didn't have to play god with people's lives, deciding who lived and who died, who lost limbs and who walked away fully healed.

But she _was_ a medic, and to refuse to help with triage in an emergency would be to condemn _all_ of those people to suffer. That wasn't a better option, even if it would have been easier on her in the short term. So she slogged away with the rest of her medical team, using her biotic tech when she could, conventional medicine when necessary, and sometimes even plain old physical stitches.

Triage also meant that she couldn't place an emotional value on her decisions, could not allow the fact that her friends and loved ones were suffering to influence her choices. So even though Genji had been badly injured in the battle, even though his precious remaining limb had been savaged by two OR14 units attempting to literally tear him apart, she _had_ to treat the life-threatening wounds of other agents first.

By the time the flow of injured was reduced enough that she could leave it to the rest of her team, he'd been waiting for at least two hours. She'd sent him up to her lab, knowing she'd need the equipment there to repair his cybernetic systems. She'd have had Torbjorn working on it already, but her old friend was also on the injured list and waiting for treatment.

Heart in her throat, Angela approached her lab, fearing what she would find. She'd healed the worst of the damage in the field when it happened, enough to keep him from bleeding out, but she couldn't imagine Genji would be handling any threat to his remaining humanity well. He'd been so rigidly controlled on the return trip to the Watchpoint, so closed off and contained, she feared how bad the eventual breakdown would surely be.

Somewhat to her surprise, she found him sitting cross-legged on the examination table, right hand held before him with two fingers extended, eyes closed and expression serene as he meditated. Usually his other hand would be clasped around the first, but it lay lifeless in his lap, fingers curled into claws by damaged extensors. He didn't react to her entrance, chest rising and falling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, no sign of the agony he surely had to be experiencing. 

She'd seen him meditate through pain before, but this level of control was almost terrifying in its absolute stillness.

"How bad is it?"

The unexpected sound of his voice made her jump, because she honestly hadn't thought he was aware of her presence. His voice was harsh, as if he was holding back screams, filled with the pain his body language and expression refused to show. Swallowing, Angela approached him slowly, like a skittish wild animal. "Genji..."

His eyes opened, and he speared her with their demonic red glow, the raw fury within pinning her to the spot. "How. _Bad_."

Biting her lip, Angela pulled out her scanner and ran it over him. The HALO of the Valkyrie suit had already run the initial scans, so she knew the answer, but she told herself she wanted more conclusive evidence before she delivered the crushing blow. Unfortunately, the new scan didn't produce any miracles, and she was forced to admit the truth. "It's... not good. There was already significant nerve and muscle damage from your battle with your brother, but enough remained intact that I was able to bypass the worst spots. Now..."

"Now it's too extensive." The bitterness in his voice was reflected a hundred times over in his eyes. There was no hint of tears, but Angela found her own eyes welling as if trying to express the emotions he was holding back so fiercely.

No matter how many times she told herself that the diagnosis had been final the moment he took the injury, her heart ached with the certainty that if she'd been able to come to him sooner, she could have changed something, done more. 

Looking down at his lap, his eyes narrowed. His biceps shifted, and she knew he was trying to flex the hand. It remained inert, lifeless, and he hissed out a harsh word. "Should the arm be fully replaced? Hardly seems any point in leaving just the one shoulder as flesh."

"You have so much cybernetics already..." Angela started, but he cut off that line of reasoning with a sharp gesture from his working hand.

"If I was anyone else, would you recommend replacement?" He met her eyes again, daring her to lie to him.

"Yes." The word escaped as a whisper. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "If you want to remain an active field agent, then yes, it must be fully replaced. However, I _could_ partially repair it. You'd have enough function to allow you to live a relatively normal life."

The sound he made barely qualified as a laugh, full of cutting shards and broken dreams, tearing at her. Did he blame her, as she blamed herself? "Normal? I don't know what that means. What the fuck would I even do with my life? I have no place, no purpose, outside of Overwatch."

Her temper sparked in return. He had every reason to be upset, of course he did, but as always he was deliberately ignoring any alternative to his rage and despair. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself for a moment. Of course there are options open to you, even within Overwatch. You could follow Sojourn's example, take the ops lead on a strike team. You've got more than enough field experience for that, you could be trained in the operations side of it." He blinked, apparently caught off guard by her fervour, and she ploughed ahead. "Or you could become an elite trainer. You've worked miracles with Lena in just a few months. Imagine what an entire squad taught by you could accomplish."

"Teach?" He sounded almost bewildered by the idea. "Me? I'm an asshole even to Tracer, and she's worked unbelievably hard. I'd lose patience with a normal student."

"It's not as if you'd be teaching the rank and file," Angela pointed out, latching onto his not-entirely-negative response. From him, that was practically positive. "I know for a fact Morrison has been fielding requests from most of the top strike teams, the ones a level below ours. They're all used to training hard, and they know the value of putting in that effort, just like Lena."

"I..." Genji's breath hitched, and for a long moment he sat in silence, a look on his face that was close to longing. Angela dared to hope, a fragile wish for him to let go of his past and begin to build a future instead.

Then his expression hardened, and her hope was shattered. "No," he ground out. "I would never be able to face my brother with such a handicap."

Frustrated by his single-minded obsession, Angela couldn't hold back an impatient noise. "Revenge is not the only goal worth living for, Genji!"

"It is for me." His tone was implacable, not a hint of hesitation lingering. He'd made up his mind, and she well knew how very stubborn he could be. "Replace it. Might as well go the whole way - build a complete suit. Leave nothing vulnerable. The heads up display from a visor would be helpful, anyway."

"Genji, _please_ don't do this," she begged him. Whatever tentative dream she'd had of him one day healing enough to accept her as something more than a friend... that dream would surely be erased, wiped out of existence, if he took this irrevocable step. He was already fixated on the idea that so much cybernetics made him inhuman, and this would only cement that in his mind. 

What he was describing was full armour - it was an idea that had been floated when she and Torbjorn had first designed his cybernetics, but _Genji_ had rejected it, wanting to be able to see what human parts he had remaining. Now he wanted to cover his head, even his eyes, leaving nothing exposed. He was shutting himself away, rejecting the world, rejecting contact with anyone.

Rejecting _her_... even though she knew it was pure selfishness to believe she factored into his decision at all. But oh, how she wished she did.

"It's _my choice_." His words were vicious, a reference to all the choices that had been stolen from him by his brother's attack. "Don't take that from me. It's my life, my body, my decision."

"Yes, it is," she conceded defeat. "The fact that I can't stop you from doing something foolish doesn't mean I won't argue with you about it, however."

He refused to respond to her teasing, not even the slightest lessening of the tension around his eyes. "How long?"

"At least a month, probably closer to two." At his outraged noise, she threw her hands up. "In case you didn't notice, you're not the only one who was hurt today. This was a massive operation, and we took heavy casualties. Torbjorn needs to recover before he can help me with the redesign, and we both have other work as well that can't simply be set aside. I'm also including your recovery and retraining time in that. I _ought_ to say three months, but if your adjustment to your current cybernetics is anything to go by, it won't take you nearly that long."

Whether it was the reminder that he wasn't Overwatch's top priority, or the reassurance that the timeline included his recovery, her words settled Genji. "Can the hand be made functional at all in the meantime?"

"On a very basic level, yes." Angela shrugged. "I'm not going to spend much in the way of time and resources on it if you're planning to throw it away, but I won't leave you helpless."

He winced, and she realized her words had been harsher than she'd intended. Still, she didn't take it back. He _was_ throwing it away, refusing to consider any option but the one that let him have his revenge. 

"It's my choice," he repeated, defensive this time instead of defiant.

"That doesn't mean the people who care about you have to be happy that you're making it." Picking up the Caduceus staff, she aimed the beam at his arm. "Hold still while I heal the worst of it. Then I have other patients who need me."

"Coffee tonight?" he murmured, the question so uncharacteristically hesitant, she almost thought she'd imagined it. If he was that uncertain, he definitely understood how upset she was with him. But that _he_ would reach out for a connection, now when he was so emotionally agonized, was unprecedented.

Angela sighed. "You're always welcome," she said, unable and unwilling to cut him off because she was angry in that moment. "But it's been a very long day and it's nowhere near over, not for me. Live patients take priority over research, and we're going to need every hand on deck for a while yet. I doubt I'll be back to the lab any time soon."

A flush swept over his cheeks, bright enough to be seen above the mask, and he looked chagrined. "Of course. They need you. My apologies, I wasn't thinking."

His arm was as good as it could get without intensive surgery. She stepped back and nodded to indicate he should try it. This time when he flexed his hand it did move, though it was slow and stiff. She caught the edge of a grunt of pain as he worked the fingers; it must be truly agonizing, to break through his stoicism. Angela felt a twinge of guilt, but there were so many more people who needed her right now. Still...

"Good enough," he declared, ending her internal debate between duty and compassion. "Go. Work your miracles for others. I cannot hoard them all to myself." Genji paused, then added more softly, "Thank you, Dr. Ziegler. Remember to take care of yourself, as well as your patients."

Touched by the concern, something he so rarely expressed in explicit terms, she rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. The flesh beneath her fingers was too warm, a reaction to the healing process. It broke her heart to think that soon, she wouldn't be able to touch him at all, wouldn't be able to reconnect him to the rest of humanity on that most fundamental of levels. She was the only person he permitted to touch him, and now he would lose even that.

Worse, she thought that might be exactly what he believed he wanted. She only hoped he wouldn't bitterly regret it, because once done, it couldn't be undone.


	5. Chapter 5

Genji had never thought of himself as a coward - despite some of the caustic insults Hanzo spat at him over the years. It wasn't cowardice that had made him avoid his duties in the Shimada Clan, but laziness and distaste. Certainly physical pain had become no sort of deterrent, because very little could compare to the pain he lived with every day. Nobody in Overwatch would have dreamed of calling him a shirker.

And yet, it took over a week before he worked up the courage to seek Angela out again. She'd been so upset with him for his choice, and he feared that might colour their interactions. Genji had no problem antagonizing everyone else in Overwatch to make them keep their distance, but he thought part of him might break if _she_ ever turned away from him.

Then there was the fact that he knew she'd continue to try to talk him out of having his arm replaced, and the truth was, he feared she might convince him. He'd vacillated back and forth all week, one moment determined that nothing would stop him from going through with it, the next terrified of losing the last of his humanity, becoming fully the abomination. Genji's nightmares had been worse than usual, and that was saying something, full of fire and agony. Hanzo had torn Genji apart, through his betrayal as much as his physical actions. This time Genji was tearing _himself_ apart, a deliberate action taken in cold rationality.

Yes, he'd approved the cybernetics he already had, but he'd truly had no choice back then. Genji could never live confined to a bed, an invalid with only a single working limb. Never mind his revenge; such an existence would have rotted him away from within through sheer despair. Even becoming a monster was a better option.

This time, there _were_ other choices he could live with, and that made it much, much harder to convince himself this course of action was truly necessary. If Angela pushed hard - maybe not even that hard - he might break. 

Finally he could resist the urge to see her no longer, giving in to the clawing need. When he 'drifted by' her lab, he found her standing at a holoscreen, manipulating images of extremely complex molecules and mind-bending equations. The screen was positioned so she could see through it to the doorway, so this time he didn't get to sneak in and watch her for a while before she noticed his presence. Disappointed, he nodded a cautious greeting, hovering in the doorway until he was sure of his welcome.

The smile he got in return put those fears to rest. The pure brightness of her healer's heart shone through, and there was nothing but caring and happiness in her eyes. "Genji. I was starting to think I wouldn't see you again until we needed to do the first test fittings. Coffee?"

"Thank you, no." Relieved that she wasn't going to continue to make an issue of his decision, he took a seat on what had become his 'usual' chair. He slumped over the lab table, chin propped on his right hand, just soaking in her presence.

She shook her head, and went to pour herself a cup. "Honestly, I don't know why you won't just take it. You always end up drinking it _somehow_."

"Where would be the fun in that?" he murmured, and was rewarded with her soft, sensual chuckle. She'd definitely forgiven him, if she was laughing at such a weak joke.

"I didn't think you knew the meaning of the word fun," she teased back, sliding into the seat across from him, mug cradled in her hands. She had a collection of them, which she said had been given to her as presents over the years. This one proclaimed 'Don't mess with me... I get paid to stab people with sharp objects'.

Blinking at the mug, he snorted. "Are you sure that one shouldn't be mine?" The picture accompanying the words was a hypodermic needle, but it still seemed more like something that applied to him.

"Perhaps we have more in common than you might think." She winked at him, and lifted the mug for a sip. 

Genji surreptitiously watched her throat move as she swallowed, admiring the pale, slender column. If she had any idea how much time he spent watching her, wanting what he could never have... well, he'd lose what part of her heart he was lucky enough to occupy at all. She deserved so, so much better than him.

But on the rare occasions that his dreams weren't full of nightmares and pain, he inevitably dreamed of _her_. Her sweet heart, so full of love and compassion that there was no room for darkness to grow within her, unlike him. Her shining spirit, simultaneously so gentle and fierce in a way that somehow wasn't a contradiction, but a basic expression of who she was. And most of all, her silky skin, the lush ripeness of her lips, the sensual curves of a woman's body so often masked by her lab coat or armour, just waiting for someone to peel back the covering and explore.

Wrenching his mind off the forbidden track, he lowered his gaze so she wouldn't see the heat that surely had to be showing. He found he was rubbing his left thumb across his fingertips, a subconscious expression of his desire to touch her. 

A pale hand extended into his field of view, and Genji froze as delicate fingers came to rest over his. He stared at the connection, feeling the warmth of her skin against his, wondering if he was dreaming after all. In real life, Angela knew better than to touch him, understood how much he hated any reminder of his physical body.

Her voice was as soft as her touch, as gentle as the way she stroked over his knuckles. "Are you sure you want to lose this? You know better than anyone that the artificial nerves are nowhere near as sensitive as the real thing. You'll never truly be able to touch anything again."

The air in his lungs seemed to solidify, a rock in his chest that he had to struggle to breathe through. So it wasn't that she'd decided to drop the fight, but that she intended to be sneaky about it... and this was a very low blow. Closing his eyes, Genji struggled for control, but couldn't make himself yank his hand out from under hers. "Unfair," he accused, voice rough with pain that for once had nothing to do with his physical state of being.

She sighed, and tightened her fingers over his. "I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't push about it - especially when it seemed like you were avoiding me. I don't ever want you to feel unwelcome or hesitant about being with me. I just need to know you've thought this through _fully_. Once done, there's no going back. I've seen the way you're always touching things, like you're reassuring yourself that you still can."

"Do I?" Genji was startled by the thought. He'd had no awareness of doing so, though now that she pointed it out, he realized he did have a habit of rubbing his fingers over whatever surface was closest to his left hand. All that remained of his childhood tendency to fidget endlessly; he'd learned better control of himself since then, and cybernetic muscles didn't act without some level of conscious desire for that movement. At least it meant she hadn't realized _what_ he'd been thinking about touching, in that moment.

Though he knew he should pull away, he found himself turning his hand over instead, catching her fingers with his, twining them together. Unable to resist, he opened his eyes to drink in the sight. Her skin was so pale against his, the undertones peach instead of bronze, and so delicate it seemed he would surely bruise her with the slightest pressure. He had slender fingers for a man, but she still looked small next to him. The tips of his first two fingers skimmed the underside of her wrist, testing the fragile flesh there, feeling her pulse kick into overdrive as her breath caught in her throat.

Chagrined, Genji realized he'd not only crossed the line, but smashed his way right through it. "I'm sorry," he said, uncurling his fingers from around hers and trying to tug away. "I shouldn't..."

To his shock she not only didn't let him go, she used her grip to lift his hand and press his palm against her cheek. All the breath left him in a rush as he finally met her eyes. The piercing blue was filled with sorrow and longing, a match to the ache in his own chest. "Angela, what...?"

"Are you sure you want to lose this?" she repeated, her voice husky. "Because I don't."

Apparently she'd understood the direction of his thoughts after all, but her reaction was an impossible welcome to the idea, instead of the rejection he'd been so certain of. "We can't... we shouldn't..." Despite his floundering protests, he curved his hand to the shape of her, fingers threading through her golden hair, palm cupping her cheek, thumb sweeping slowly back and forth across the heat of her blush. He couldn't resist the temptation, had no hope of denying this attraction he'd kept hidden for so long. 

"I know," she replied, so full of matching longing that it hurt. "Right now, I don't care. I have no doubt you've already convinced yourself this was never a possibility, so you think you're not losing anything by giving it up. I need to be sure you understand how wrong you are."

Trembling, he slid his hand down so he cupped her jaw instead, allowing him to brush over the fullness of her lower lip. His arm was still more than half useless, his grip weak and fingers uncoordinated, but he had enough strength for this. Nothing short of losing the arm entirely would have stopped him from touching her right now. Sickness churned in his gut as the point she was making drove home - he was choosing to do exactly that.

Shoving that thought aside, he focused on the moment. "So all those times you let me rub your shoulders to get the kinks out, all those moans that drove me fucking crazy, you were wishing for more as much as I was? Is that what you're telling me?" It couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming. But never in his wildest fantasies had she ever felt so real, so _alive_ , beneath his fingers.

"Oh god, yes," she moaned now, lips whispering against the pad of his thumb like wet silk. A flick of her tongue against the sensitive tip sent lightning shooting down his spine, his cock instantly hard enough to hammer nails. "You have no idea. By the time you finish I'm so wet from imagining what it would feel like to have you touch other places, it's all I can do not to squirm in place."

Heart beating so hard he could feel it thumping against his ribs, Genji swiped his thumb over her lower lip again, putting more pressure into the touch this time. When she opened her lips to allow the digit inside, he swore at the hot, slick heat of her. Then she sucked at him, tongue flicking the tip again, and his vision nearly whited out.

"I had no idea you were so naughty," he said, the words little more than a rasp of desire. The odd harmonics of his artificial voice turned it into something close to a growl. She shivered in response, and bit down on his thumb. "Or that you were such a tease. Angela..."

Pulling back, she let his thumb slip out of her mouth so she could speak. "Genji. Please. At least find out what you'll be missing."

"I won't promise to change my mind," he warned her. If this was some kind of desperate ploy meant only to get him to reconsider... no. He couldn't believe she'd cheapen herself that way, use her body for any reason other than her own genuine desire. However insane it seemed to him, she _did_ want him, or she wouldn't be offering this. But he wouldn't lead her on, wouldn't make a promise he had no intention of keeping, just to get into her pants.

"All I ask is that you promise to rethink the decision with this in mind," she said, blue eyes burning like the heart of a flame with the heat of her passion. "And if you still choose to go through with it, I swear I won't say another word against it. At least you'll have this memory to keep... and so will I." 

Her voice broke on the last words, and her eyes held a suspicious sheen when she lowered her gaze. That, more than anything she'd said, convinced him that her reasons were selfish, not selfless.

As much as he hated the thought of hurting her, of breaking her heart, Genji wasn't nearly strong enough, _good_ enough, to walk away from what she was offering. "Agreed."


	6. Chapter 6

Letting his hand drift down, Genji dragged the blunt edge of his nails along the sensitive column of Angela's neck, making her shudder. Once, not so very long ago, he'd been quite good at this kind of teasing, sensual game. Time to find out if he'd gotten rusty. "Exactly how much am I permitted to touch? I'd hate to overstep my bounds."

Instead of answering out loud, Angela shrugged off her labcoat, letting it fall to pool on the stool behind her. She got up, moving around the table until she was standing next to him. He turned in his seat so they were facing each other, her hips bracketed by his knees. The lab stools were high, and their eyes were now at nearly the same height, putting their bodies perfectly in line.

Still without speaking, she reached up and flicked open the top button of her pretty blue blouse, fingers brushing against his hand where he still played over the soft skin of her neck. Then she undid the next button, and the next. Recognizing it as an invitation, he trailed his hand after hers, savouring each new inch of flesh as it was revealed.

When her bra came into view, Genji groaned. Pale blue lace edged the satin of the half cups, navy printed with tiny hearts that matched the lace. Nestled between the sweet mounds of creamy flesh, a bow graced the narrowest part of the band, with a small silver heart charm dangling from it. The colours complemented her shirt so perfectly, he knew it had to be deliberate.

"Who were you dressing up for?" he demanded, jealousy sweeping through him at the idea. He had no right to be possessive of her, no right at all... but that didn't stop him from feeling it.

"Myself," she replied tartly. "I like to feel pretty and feminine. It has nothing to do with who might see it."

"Do the panties match?" He was going hoarse, or maybe losing his English so the words came out harder to understand. The thought of her standing in front of a mirror, admiring her femininity in matching lingerie, was enough to blow his circuits.

"Now, where would be the fun in telling?" The echo of the words he'd said to her, about accepting coffee directly from her instead of stealing it, was surely deliberate. The wicked sparkle in her eyes would have surprised those who thought that 'sweet' and 'caring' was all there was to her, but Genji knew differently. He'd seen Angela angry, stubborn, frustrated, and yes, mischievous. Though her humour was never at anyone's expense, she had a playful streak a mile wide with those she called friends and family.

He'd always felt honoured to be on the list of people who saw the real Angela Ziegler, instead of the heroic 'Mercy' perceived by the rest of the world. He'd never dared to imagine how the mischief in her nature might translate to bedroom games, though. Fuck, why couldn't he have met her before, when he'd been a whole person, a man who wasn't afraid to bare himself and play in return?

Except, Genji realized in a moment of painful clarity, he'd been no more worthy of her back then than he was now, just in a different way. That spoiled brat would have offered her genuine physical pleasure, but used and discarded her without any thought to her emotions. He'd never have hesitated to make any promise that would get him into her pants, regardless of whether he had the intention of keeping it. Hell, he hadn't been in any way a man who'd have attracted her in the first place, too self-centered and uncaring of the wider consequences of his actions.

"Genji?" Her voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, concern evident in the gentle way she spoke. "Where did you go?" She'd covered his hand with hers, pressing it closer to her chest, until he could feel the rapid beat of her heart fluttering beneath his fingertips.

"You deserve better than me. Better than _this_." Even knowing the truth of his words, he couldn't stop himself from curving his thumb beneath one soft mound, teasing the sensitive underside through the satin. Her sharply indrawn breath was gratifying, as was the shiver as she squeezed her fingers around his.

"That's for me to decide," Angela replied, as firm as he'd ever heard her. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn't do everything I could to convince you to give us a chance."

Giving in to the inevitable, Genji caught the lace edge of one cup beneath his fingers and tugged it down, baring the luscious flesh beneath. He did the same on the other side, so both nipples were bared to his gaze. They were the rich pink of sakura petals, and when he brushed his fingers over one he found the skin there every bit as velvet soft as the cherry blossoms they reminded him of. He pinched it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to create a gentle sting. She moaned, and her nipple furled tighter still beneath his touch, the neglected one rising to match its twin. 

Instinct and desire prodded him to take the second peak in his mouth, tease it with tongue and teeth in the same way he tormented the other with callus and nail-edge. Her thoughts must have followed his, because she reached for his mask, clearly intending to undo the catches and pull it free. 

Before he could make a conscious decision of whether to let her do so, he'd already jerked his head away, out of her grasp. " _No_." The word was a harsh rejection, so sharp that she made a stifled noise of hurt. "Not that," he added more softly, regret humming through him. Both for hurting her, and for denying them the extra intimacy. But even if she could accept his ravaged appearance, _he_ couldn't bear the idea of her beautiful body sullied by the ugly touch of the violence that had ruined him. The thought of his scars against her skin made him sick with the wrongness of it. 

"All right," she murmured, dropping her hands to run her fingers down his throat instead, nails scraping at the tender spot where flesh met metal. "Not that. For now." The 'later' implied by her words hung between them, a tantalizing promise of more that he couldn't yet accept.

Tilting his head to give her better access to the sensitive area, Genji curved his right hand around her hip to tug her closer. Angela came willingly, one hand sliding further down to play over his chest as well. When she dug her nails in and dragged, it was his turn to shudder in visceral reaction. He pinched her nipple again in retaliation - and encouragement, because the last thing he wanted was for her to stop. He drank in the sight and feel of her, wishing more than ever that he could drown in the scent and taste as well.

"You are so beautiful it hurts my heart," he told her, sweet words emerging from a part of his soul that he'd honestly thought was lost. "Your spirit, your body, your mind, all of it, so exquisite and uniquely perfect. Some days I can hardly bring myself to look at you. I never dreamed I'd be permitted to do more than look."

" _Genji_." Her voice broke, and the hitch of her breath this time was as much a sob as a gasp of desire. "God, I wish you would believe me if I told you the same thing. It hurts _my_ heart that I can't express how strong, amazing, and gorgeous I find you, without you thinking I'm crazy. Or worse, have you accuse me of pity."

"Not pity," he acknowledged, because even he could see that pity was the last thing she felt for him. "Insanity, yes, but not pity. I don't know how I got lucky enough that you're delusional in this particular way, but for tonight, I will take advantage of it."

Dropping her head, she brushed a kiss against his cheek, then another on the cool surface of the mask, right where it covered his mouth. Genji ached with the need to taste her, but didn't retract his refusal. Angela kept moving downward, trailing her mouth over the same path her fingers had taken - down the arch of his neck, along the curve of his shoulder, down the plane of his pectoral. When her lips encountered the scratch marks her nails had left behind, the sting of it made him shudder all over again.

At some point, he'd apparently tangled his left hand in her gorgeous hair, the blonde locks spilling over his fingers like shimmering silk threads. She didn't protest the tight hold, or the way he tugged on it as she kept moving down. In fact, a particularly hard pull made her moan, the sound vibrating against his nipple as her hot mouth closed over it.

Gasping for air and clawing for control, Genji gripped the edge of the table with his right hand to use as an anchor against the tidal wave of sensations. "I thought I was supposed to be the one touching you," he said, not quite managing to make the words a protest.

"We are touching," she pointed out, not lifting her head from her task. "That's the important thing, isn't it? This is my memory, too. Unless you want me to stop?" She bit him, teeth digging oh-so-carefully into the tight peak of his nipple, making his cock jump with need.

"Stop? Fuck, no," Genji ground out, only barely coherent. His mind was so scrambled by pleasure and desire that he could hardly think straight, let alone remember English. "Do your worst."

"Oh, now. You might want to be careful with challenges like that." Her blue eyes danced with teasing laughter as she looked up at him. "I'm not the saint everyone seems to want to believe I am."

"So I'm learning." He'd had no idea she had such a broad streak of naughty sensuality in her. His beautiful angel was a bit of a hellion.

No. Not his. Never _his_ , no matter how much he wished it could be otherwise. 

This time when her nimble fingers slid over metal to find the catches holding it in place, he made no protest - it wasn't his mask she was after. The relief of pressure against his straining cock as the groin cover was removed was its own kind of pleasure. That was nothing compared to the actual pleasure of her slender fingers wrapping around the length of him, stroking him with teasing slowness. Genji's control was already shot, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation he was no longer accustomed to, and he couldn't stop himself from driving his dick into the grip of her fist.

Whether by intent or accident, the dragonfire that ravaged the rest of his body had left that area unscathed. Perhaps even Hanzo had not hated him _that_ much. If Genji looked only at her pale fingers wrapped around turgid flesh gone dark with trapped blood, he could almost fool himself into feeling like he was whole.

Angela went to her knees, and the dizzying knowledge of her intention struck him just before she acted on it. He choked on a sound somewhere between a groan and a curse as she sucked his cock into her hot, wet mouth, pink lips pressed tight to the rigid flesh, cheeks hollowing as she sucked at him long and hard. It took everything Genji had to keep himself from thrusting up, but not for any price would he ever harm her. Not even for his own selfish gratification.

Besides, if he choked her, she'd _stop_.

She knew what she was doing, how to pleasure a man. Her lips glided over the sensitive skin of his shaft as she bobbed up and down his length, alternating hard suction with slow sweeps of her tongue over his weeping slit. One hand wrapped around his base, stroking in time with the motions of her head.

Already Genji could feel the onrushing cliff edge, knew he wouldn't be able to resist the pull of orgasm for long. He'd dreamed of this, of _her_ , far too long and too often, with no relief save what his body found in dreams because he couldn't bear to touch himself. "Angela, I can't..." He tugged at her hair, then pulled, then _yanked_ when she refused to stop. If anything, it only seemed to encouraged her to greater heights of passion.

Plastic cracked as his right hand clenched on the table edge, cybernetic strength no longer under his control. His balls felt heavy and tight, aching with need, and his cock pulsed with every flick of her tongue. He was close, so fucking close, but he wanted more. "Angela!"

This time it wasn't her tongue that scraped over the head of his cock, but the edge of her teeth, so delicately applied she might have been wielding a surgical instrument. It was too much/not enough/pleasure/pain/ _need_...

Shouting, Genji lost his grip on control, coming so hard his back arched with the force of it. She swallowed it all, sucking greedily to get every last drop, milking him dry. It felt like the orgasm went on forever, yet was over in an eye blink, far too soon. Panting - _gasping_ \- Genji slumped forward, completely drained, groaning when she gave one last lick to his over-sensitive head.

Finally she pulled away, looking up at him with heated blue eyes and swollen pink lips, smug satisfaction stamped all over her expression. Releasing her hair, Genji ran his fingertips over those puffy lips in a gesture so tender, he could hardly believe it came from him. "Did I hurt you?" He was fairly certain he'd been thrusting into her mouth at the end, with no care for her comfort.

"Only in the best way," she assured him, rising from her knees when he tugged her up off the floor. 

As soon as she was close enough he clamped his hands on her hips, lifting her up and making her squeak in surprise, rising to his feet along with her. Now they were pressed together with her back to the lab table, her tight nipples brushing his chest, his oversensitive cock cradled between her thighs. Angela gasped, hands clenched on his shoulders for balance, as he cupped her breasts in both hands.

"My turn," he told her, exaggerating a scolding tone. "Bad girl. I wasn't nearly done touching you." He pinched her nipples, exquisitely careful with the strength of his right hand, a punishment he knew she'd only enjoy. 

"And yet, somehow I didn't hear you protesting," she teased back, getting revenge by dragging her nails across his pec again. 

Touching her this way highlighted the contrast in sensations between his right and left hand. There were sensors built into his cybernetic fingers and palm, pressure pads that triggered feedback along the correct nerve pathways for his brain to register. But the _detail_ was lacking, everything muted and muffled like he was wearing thick gloves. He couldn't feel the gentle warmth of her body, the satin texture of her skin, the tiny bumps of her areola around the taut peak of the nipple. 

_This_ was what he'd be giving up, throwing away, if he chose to replace his arm. For the first time, he realized she was right; he hadn't truly thought it through, not to a gut-deep level. Even now, with his left arm only nominally functional, he still at least had this. If he replaced it he'd be stronger, faster, tireless, and _never able to touch her again_.

Soul shredding to pieces at the thought, Genji hid his expression by rubbing his cheek against her hair, so she wouldn't see the realization in his eyes. If she saw, she might pounce on it, might find the leverage for that one push too far.

"My turn," he said again, a plea this time instead of a teasing scold. Something of his anguish must have shown in his voice despite his best efforts, because she gave a soft sigh and nodded, her hands gentling on his chest. 

With one last rub of his thumb over her nipple, Genji dropped his left hand, trailing further down her torso. He finished flicking the buttons open, one by one, exploring every inch of skin bared. His right arm curved around her waist, pulling her closer and urging her to arch up against him. She did so, moaning, head falling back and baring the enticing curve of her throat. Genji nuzzled there, though only the unyielding metal of his mask touched the skin.

"Genji..." Somehow they'd shifted so one of his thighs was between hers, and Angela ground against him in an urgent rhythm. 

"Not like that," he told her, low and hoarse, as he fumbled the zipper of her slacks. "I can give you better than that. Let me." Working his hand inside, slipping between the satin of her panties and the silk of her skin, he sought and found the crisp, springy curls that guarded her sex. She gasped and tilted her hips, making room and inviting him further, and he delved down to where the curls became slick with her desire.

Groaning, he petted her there, each stroke pushing deeper until the slickness coated skin instead of hair. Her pussy was so hot it felt scorching, so wet it was heaven, the tender flesh swollen with passion. She cried out at the first brush of his fingers against her clit, and he stroked gently, so gently. Every indication was that she was primed and ready to go, but Angela deserved better satisfaction than that.

On his next stroke Genji split his fingers, running them on either side of her clit instead of over it, teasing her. Angela growled and dug her nails into his shoulders again, but he was so focused on the feel of her pussy he hardly even noticed the needles of pleasure/pain. He kept going, curving his middle and ring fingers so they slipped inside her, pushing slowly but inexorably deeper. Her body was so fucking tight around the digits, yet she welcomed him in, gasping and crying out and writhing as he filled her.

Breath coming harsh and short, Genji fought the reactions of his own body. His cock jumped as it struggled to rise again, eager to find out what she'd feel like around it instead of his fingers. But this was about touch, not just sex. His dick had already had its fun, and he wanted to explore every possible sensation of her against his fingertips. 

When his fingers were as deep as they could go, the heel of his palm came to rest against her clit. He ground down, rubbing in slow, deep circles, letting the callus drag against the delicate nub. Angela cried out and jerked her hips as if trying to escape, yet her body sucked him deeper still, and her hands clutched him to her. Closing his eyes, Genji concentrated everything he had on the feel of her, flicking his fingers inside, curving them up to find the slightly rough spot on the inner wall that would...

She screamed, coming apart in his arms as he found it and pressed hard, rocking his fingertips against the sensitive spot in time with the motion of his palm. He kept stroking, kept pressing, pushing her through the first orgasm and right into a second one, until her whole body was shaking so hard he thought she might hurt herself.

This time her nails dug into his wrist, not his shoulder, and he finally realized there was a word contained in her sobbing breaths. "Enough, enough!"

It wasn't enough, wasn't even close to enough for him, but Genji reluctantly withdrew from inside her. His cock was at full, rigid attention again, more than ready for the next round, but he thought she might just transfer those nails to his dick if he did anything further to stimulate her right that moment. So he gentled her instead, murmuring soft words as he held her close, sliding his hand up out of her panties, painting the slickness of her over the skin of her abdomen. His hand was soaked with the proof of her pleasure, and he very nearly gave in to the temptation to rip off his mask so he could smell it, _taste_ it.

But he wouldn't ruin this beautiful moment with that ugliness. Instead he focused on petting her, stroking her down from the gut-wrenching peak, letting her lean on him as her pleasure-weakened body slowly recovered. Only when her knees had stopped trembling and her breathing was mostly normal did he finally pull back enough to see her face.

The dazed, almost drugged look in her half-lidded eyes sent a thrill of male smugness shooting through him. Angela looked well satisfied, a woman who'd been thoroughly sated in all ways. Hefting her up onto the lab table, he made sure she was settled before he stepped back, out of reach.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice a husky rasp that did all kinds of things to his dick. She was looking at it with hunger, but he shook his head.

"That, I have no right to," he said, with deep regret. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her honeyed body, feel her grip him like a silken glove as he drove her orgasm around him. But that was a privilege, an honour, which he had not earned. She'd offered him touch, not sex; a reminder of everything he would lose if he gave up his last limb. And though she was clearly ready to go farther in the heat of the moment, he didn't want her to regret it later. He owed her more respect than a quick bang in her lab because they were acting like hormonal teenagers with no self control.

Still, he couldn't resist cupping her cheek again, rubbing his thumb over her lips, biting back one last groan when she licked the taste of herself off his finger. "You are incredible," he breathed out, the words a pale, weak expression of the emotions she brought to life within him. His hands were unsteady when he gently tucked her back into her bra, putting her back to rights.

Angela sighed in disappointment, but returned the favour, sliding his groin plate into place and locking it down. Not without a brush or two of her fingers against his length, a punishment for his refusal. "I suppose you at least ought to buy me dinner first," she murmured, the words a tease and also a request for affirmation. She looked up at him from beneath her full lashes, blue eyes shining with uncertainty and desire.

Genji concentrated on the tiny buttons of her shirt as he slipped them through their holes, using the task as an excuse not to meet her eyes. He knew what she wanted from him, what she needed to hear, and he couldn't give it to her. No matter how much he wanted it, too. If he met her gaze, acknowledged her pain, allowed himself _one_ moment of doubt, he knew he would give in to the weakness. He would let her convince him not to go through with it, to accept the limitation of the damaged limb, to choose her over his revenge.

And then he would stew in his own rage forever, unable to take his vengeance, incapable of purging the pain Hanzo had caused him, furious with himself for making that choice. It wouldn't drive him over the edge as quickly as being stuck in that hospital bed would have, but it would eat away at him until there was nothing remaining but the darkness.

When that happened he might come to resent her, might even turn on her, shattering the pure, joyous beauty that made him want to try to choose the path of light in the first place. Genji would destroy them both with his bitterness. Better for her, at least, to have a chance at something truly good in her life.

"Genji?" Her fingers brushed his upper cheek, his temple, skating over what little skin was exposed on his face. Her voice trembled, a plea he wished he could answer.

Stepping back, he broke the connection between them. Her clothes were set to rights, the only remaining sign of their passion her tousled hair, her swollen lips - and the pain in her eyes that was a match for the stabbing ache in his own chest. He memorized the sight, knowing he would torment himself with it for a long time to come. "Thank you," he said, so gruff it was nearly a growl. "For the memory."

Angela's expression fell, and she bit her lower lip hard. Seeing her white teeth sink into the plush flesh made him want more than ever to kiss her, to claim that right for his own. After a moment to collect herself, she nodded. "I understand. Thank _you_. We'll still be friends?"

'Friend' didn't begin to encompass everything she was to him, couldn't possibly hope to express his feelings for her. But it was the best he could offer her, and a poor offering at that. "Always."

It turned out he was a coward after all, because he couldn't bear to stay another moment, couldn't look upon the hurt he'd caused, and so he fled.


	7. Chapter 7

It took weeks before Angela stopped feeling haunted by regret in the quiet hours of the night. Longer still before she could spend time alone in her lab and not waste most of the hours pining over the impossible, regretting the loss of something that had never truly been hers in the first place. She couldn't sit at the stool without remembering Genji's groans as she went to her knees and sucked him into her mouth; couldn't touch the table without recalling the way she'd used it to brace herself as his fingers drove her to madness.

Genji hadn't returned since that night. Despite his promise that their friendship would remain intact, he'd hardly spoken to her beyond the process of adjusting to his new cybernetics, and training with their strike team. Angela sternly told herself not to take it personally. He was going through hell, suffering an incredible amount of pain both physical and emotional, and it wasn't as if she was the only person he refused to engage with. He'd withdrawn completely into himself, not speaking to anyone except when absolutely necessary.

Though her heart broke knowing he'd given up on any chance of something more between them, the hardest part was how much she missed his company. She'd gotten used to their midnight interludes, to teasing him about stealing her coffee, to having someone she could unburden herself to. Angela hadn't realized how much he'd coaxed her into opening up, even as he'd slowly revealed tiny slivers of himself that he'd kept hidden from everyone else. 

Now all of that was gone, and the peaceful emptiness of her lab felt sterile and cold.

Even so, it was still when she got her best work done, so Angela continued to spend her evenings as she always had. If there was a part of her that hoped Genji might someday show up again, she refused to acknowledge it.

Until the night she reached absently for the cold dregs of her coffee, only for her fingers to grope uselessly through thin air. Frowning, Angela patted out further along the desk, not looking up from the nanoscope, certain the coffee had to be there _somewhere_. Even if she was mis-remembering the amount that should be left, the mug itself wouldn't have grown legs and walked off. 

"Here." A deep voice spoke as cool metal fingers wrapped around hers, steadying her grasp on a warm mug. Startled, Angela gasped and jerked upright, would have spilled the hot coffee all over herself if he hadn't caught her wrist to hold it in place, along with her drink.

"Genji!" Angela was overjoyed to see him back, even as she was dismayed anew every time she saw his armour and mask. He looked like some kind of highly experimental omnic, a match for Echo perhaps, all sleek silver metal and bright green lights. She missed his eyes, being able to get _some_ hint of his expression. 

"Dr. Ziegler." He inclined his head in a brief bow. "I'm sorry for startling you."

"No, you're not," she accused him. "You _like_ making me jump." Lifting the mug, she took a gulp of hot, fortifying coffee. It was heavily diluted with cream and sugar, exactly the way she liked it. 

"Maybe a little." The admission was soft, with a touch of genuine humour. "You squeak so nicely."

"Oh!" Angela rolled her eyes, even as she chuckled. Her heart lifted. The teasing was a fantastic sign of his recovery, and once again it seemed he was opening up to her before anyone else. "Is there any point in asking how long you were standing there watching me? Have you been coming all these nights and I haven't realized you were there?"

"I've never come to visit without saying hello," he assured her. Though once again, he'd avoided the question of how _long_ he spent before drawing her attention. "It's been some time. I wasn't sure..." He fell silent, as if not certain how to finish.

"I've told you before, and I'll keep telling you until it gets through that thick skull of yours," Angela said firmly. "You are always welcome here, with me."

"Even though I broke your heart?" It was harder to read his tone of voice without even the hints of expression she'd been able to get from his eyes. Angela wasn't sure if the bitterness in the words was directed at her, or himself. She guessed the latter.

"Hardly that," she said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. Though it was now cybernetic, he'd still feel some of the warmth and pressure, the sense of connection she wanted to give him. "You didn't make or break any promises. I'm... I'm glad for the memory, too." Even now, she had a hard time getting the words out without a hitch. He might not have actually broken her heart, but it had certainly gotten battered in the process.

Lifting his other hand, he placed it over top of hers, squeezing gently. "I've missed our conversations," he admitted. "These late nights together. I know I didn't make the choice you'd hoped for, and I don't regret it because it's the only decision I could have lived with. But... does that truly mean it's too late for us? Is there _any_ chance?"

The intensity of his voice caught her off guard, a subtle desperation in the question that soothed some of the pain he'd caused her by turning away. "A chance for what?" she asked, not sure what he was asking, not wanting to misunderstand because of her own bias. "You've cut yourself off so completely, Genji. What's left?"

"I'm... I'm not _all_ gone." Reaching up, he lifted the visor to show his eyes... then shocked her when he pulled the mask off as well, willingly revealing his entire face for the first time since he'd demanded the mask in the first place.

Even for her, his scars always took a moment of adjustment before she could look past them to see _him_. Angela understood why he insisted on hiding, couldn't blame him for hating the reactions his face inevitably drew. The damage was so extensive she'd been forced to replace his lower jaw as well as his trachea and larynx, and the remaining flesh looked like it had turned to wax and melted into horrific shapes. His lips were twisted in a permanent sneer, distorting his expression. 

Combined with the dull red glow of his cybernetic eyes, it was a face that could not only frighten children into nightmares, but terrify grown men and women. Perhaps it would have helped had there been any gentleness in his personality to soften the effect, but Genji was a man of razor edges and jagged points. Yet when he looked at her now, the depth of vulnerability in his expression was staggering. As soul-deep as when he'd begged her not to leave him unable to walk, trapped in a mangled, helpless body for the rest of his life.

It shook her to the depths of _her_ soul, that he would bare himself to her after refusing for so long, even in the midst of ecstasy. For him, this was a far greater intimacy. Thoughts and emotions tumbling through her, Angela struggled to find words to respond, and all that came out was, "Why?"

Despite the vagueness of the question, Genji seemed to understand. "I was not ready, before. I'm still not ready, not really... but I cannot stand the thought of losing you entirely. If there is any chance still for us, I must take it. No matter how much it hurts me."

"And if there's not?" Angela met his eyes, searching for the truth. Even she wasn't sure what she was hoping to find. She couldn't bear the thought of him closing up again, once and for all, if she turned him down. But she also couldn't be with him knowing there was a subtle ultimatum beneath their relationship, feeling pressured to stay with him for his mental health rather than solely for her own heart. It would poison them, slowly but surely.

"If there is not..." Genji drew a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "Then I hope the offer of coffee, at least, is still open."

He wanted to remain her friend, was willing to keep at least that much of himself vulnerable, even if he couldn't have more. The confirmation relaxed something clenched tight and hard within Angela's heart, allowing the love she'd been holding back to burst free. Friendship could be built on, turned deeper and more intense, until it morphed into something far greater - but only if she could trust she wouldn't be killing a part of him if the 'something greater' didn't come.

Moving to the dispenser, she fixed another mug of coffee, black but heavily sweetened. It was the same as the dregs she'd found in the mugs he'd snuck back into the lab just as he'd snuck them out in the first place, or on the rare occasions he left the evidence in plain view after they parted ways for the night. When she offered it to him, he took it with both hands, an oddly formal gesture. The look on his face was agonized anticipation, unsure if her response meant she was offering only the coffee, or confirming the possibility of something more.

"We go slow," she said, curling her fingers around his on the mug. The metal of his armour was cool beneath her touch, and she already missed the feel of scarred, callused fingers beneath hers. Still, as he'd said, not all of him was gone. The truly important things remained. "Not withstanding our... last encounter... this is something that needs to happen naturally, organically, to create a foundation for a lasting relationship."

The hope and relief in his eyes was painful to see, it was so intense. "I understand, and I agree. As I said, I know I'm not ready. It still revolts me to think of... of sullying you with the physical evidence of the violence in my life." He grimaced. "It sounds foolish when I say it out loud." 

But the heart rarely listened to reason, as Angela knew all too well. Letting go of the mug, she reached up, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he chose to. Genji went rigid when he realized she meant to touch him, but didn't jerk back as he had the last time. Her fingers came to rest on his face, tracing the lines of his cheeks, down over his jaw, following the bumps and valleys of the scarring as simply part of the landscape of his features.

"Your touch could never do me harm," she murmured. "These are badges of your survival, not only a mark of violence. You are the strongest man I know in so many ways, and that's part of why I care for you so much." Why she loved him, but she knew he wasn't ready to hear that, not yet. 

Some day, when he stopped hating himself so much that it bewildered him how she could disagree.

Leaning in, she brushed her lips over his, a simple touch meant only to affirm that there was still a way for them to form that connection. Genji groaned, and startled her by taking over the kiss, licking at her mouth until she gave way and let his tongue in to tangle with hers. It was hot, and hard, and desperate, filled with echoes of previous pleasure and a promise for more in the future.

When they parted for air, her hands were locked around his neck and his were tangled in her hair. "Slow," Genji said, as if reminding himself. "You deserve to be courted, not just tumbled into bed."

"Yes, I do," she agreed with a smile. "And so do you." He looked startled, as if the idea of him deserving something more had never occurred to him.

Stepping back, not without reluctance but knowing she was right to insist on a gradual pace, Angela retrieved her own mug and settled into her chair across the table from him. "So? Let's talk. I've missed you, too." When he slugged back a large gulp of coffee, Angela had to laugh. "Not even a flinch," she applauded him. "I'd almost think you actually liked the sludge."

"I've had worse," he shrugged. "It certainly serves its purpose of waking me up. And as prices go, to be with you I'd pay far more."

Such a simple statement, yet it resonated with Angela deep in her heart. He'd already proven the truth of it, paying the 'price' of exposing himself, fighting his own self-loathing to convince her to give him a chance. She knew it would be a long time before she heard words of love from him, if ever... but actions spoke louder than words.

Impulsively, she reached across the table, catching his hand and tangling their fingers together. Genji wouldn't feel it as deeply as if he'd still had the flesh hand, but it was a connection. One tiny strand of the web they needed to build, to support a more solid relationship.

He squeezed her back, careful of his new cybernetic strength, but firm enough to show he understood her intent. Another tiny strand, reinforcing the first. Given enough time, enough strands, their bond would be strong enough to bear any strain.

Angela couldn't wait.


End file.
